Page 63 of Reckless At Raleigh High
“You’re not very smart at all if you can’t see that that information hangs you as well as me, boy.”
I roll my eyes, groaning loudly. “I’m a fucking minor, asshole. And you are technically still my legal guardian. Coercion’s a real thing. What judge is gonna prosecute a kid that some wannabe crime lord snatched out of the hands of CPS to use as his own personal whipping boy?”
Monty does the math on this. I watch as he runs the numbers and weighs in his head how likely it’ll be that I will walk away from all of this unscathed. With my record and the fact that I recently fucking shot someone, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor. There’s a chance that I’m right, though. Either way, even if I do go down or I don’t, Monty knows that my testimony and the information on this thumb drive pretty much guarantees that he’ll be looking at some hardcore jailtime. “You wanna go back inside because of another Moretti, Montgomery?” I ask, tapping the end of the thumb drive against his desk.
If looks could start fires and bring about the end of the world, then I would be facing down the apocalypse as Monty scowls at me from across his precious fucking desk. “What the hell do you want, kid?” he hisses.
Oh, this is an easy one. I already have my demands prepared. “No fall out for handing over the bag. For me, or Silver, or Silver’s dad, or anyone else.”
“And?”
“And you figure out how to get Zander cut from the Dreadnaughts.”
“Why the hell would he want to leave the club?”
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not.”
“Lastly, I want your help.”
“Jesus, kid, your asking price is getting kinda steep,” Monty growls.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be happy to lend a hand with this part,” I tell him, rolling my eyes. “I want Giacomo gone. I want him out of Raleigh. Preferably out of Washington. I don’t care if he winds up behind bars or in the fucking ground. I just want himgone.”
Monty sucks on his teeth. “You’d ex out your own father?”
“I’ll kill anyone who poses a threat to Silver, Monty. And that includes you. Now pick up that cell phone of yours, Boss. I believe you’ve got some calls to make.”
* * *
“Made it out alive. Gotta say I’m impressed.”
I told Zander to stay in the car, but I honestly expected him to have vanished by the time I came back outside. He’s never been very good at doing what he was told. However, when I head back to the Camaro, he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, racking up a monster of a joint on his lap.
“Move,” I command.
“I’m an excellent driver. Why don’t you just relax and I’ll—” He stops talking when he glances up and sees the look on my face. “Fuck’s sake.” mumbling to himself, he slides across the bench to the passenger’s side, careful not to dump out his weed in the footwell. “You’re a walking cliché, Moretti. A teenaged bad boy who doesn’t let anyone else drive his muscle car? Come on. You’re better than that. Don’t be so fucking obvious.”
“I let Silver drive my car,” I reply, slamming the car door behind me. “I’d let Cam drive it, too, probably.”
“Then why can’t I?”
“Because it amuses me to fuck with you,” I answer, snatching the joint he’s just finished rolling from his hands and pinching it between my teeth. “Light,” I say, holding out my hand. Zander slaps his Zippo into my open palm. The weed hits hard, a pleasant numbness traveling down the back of my neck as I hold it in my lungs for a second.
It’s been nearly a year since I smoked pot, but the comfortable buzz feels both familiar and enjoyable. One toke’s all I need, though. I pass the joint back to Zander, exhaling twin jets of smoke down my nose.
“Should I assume that your dad’s no longer a concern?” Zander asks, his voice muffled by the thickness of the smoke in the back ofhisthroat.
Starting the Camaro’s engine, I slam my foot down on the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot. “He’s still gonna be a problem. So will Monty, one way or another. I figure I’ve bought myself some time, though. Oh, and by the way, you’re no longer a Dreadnaught.”
I can feel Zander staring at me. “What thehellare you talking about?”
“You’re done with them. And you’re done with Raleigh. Time you went back to Bellingham, man. No sense in both of us being caught up in this bullshit.”
Zander’s going to object. I’m prepared for it, but he’s barely shaped the sound of his firstno fucking way, man, when a black truck with tinted windows comes hurtling around the corner toward us. For a split second, we’re both on the same side of the road. The tinted-out windows hide the unquestionable surprise of the driver behind the wheel. I have nowhere to go. The only thing between the Camaro and the forty-foot drop into the ravine beside the road is an already dented guard rail. It won’t hold us if we hit it. We’ll go straight over the side and tumble down the sharp slope, rolling every time the car bounces off the rockface.
Somehow, inside the smallest fragment of time, an eighth of a second, no more, I understand how Ben felt right before Jackie went careening off the road. My language is a little more colorful, but I’m sure his thoughts were exactly the same, too:
